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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701553">Homecoming</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gnat/pseuds/em_gnat'>em_gnat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:42:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gnat/pseuds/em_gnat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Numa reunites with her brothers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Boil &amp; Numa &amp; Waxer (Star Wars)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Clone Wars Saved Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Homecoming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kutaisi/gifts">Kutaisi</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey there little Missy,” the Ithorian pilot’s digitized voice warbled out of his translator, startling the girl up from the data pad in her lap. “I think you’re in the wrong place. I’m about to take off.”</p><p>Perched atop one of the cargo containers at the end of the Feral Flyer’s gangplank, the twi’lek girl folded her data pad under her arm and slipped off the corner of the container to stand primly before. She was dressed simply in khaki flying pants and a long sleeve maroon jacket, her head tails neatly bound in sleeves of maroon fabric, and her pale blue-green face housed serious eyes set under brows that made her look to be perpetually frowning. Her mouth was a small, tight knot under her nose. </p><p>“You’re headed to Caliveras, correct?” she asked with a tell-tale Ryloth accent.</p><p>She was a good two feet shorter than the Ithorian pilot, and though he wasn't a particularly good judge of age when it came to twi’leks, she looked to be between 13 and 15 cycles old. A very serious, severe 13 to 15 years old, with only a backpack slung over her shoulder and a data pad in one hand. He looked at the bag and saw the ears of a tattered little tooka doll poking out of the front pocket.</p><p>“That’s right,” he said slowly, narrowing his dark eyes at her. “Not many people go out to Caliveras anymore. Not much in the way of tourism now that the empire is clamping down on travel to neutral systems. He swiveled his big head around, scanning the loading bay. A little freighter droid bumped past, carrying a slab of plasticine crates across it’s forklift arms. The sound of a Trandoshan and Rodian arguing over the placement of cargo echoed from the other side of the platform. “Are you all by yourself?”</p><p>“I need to travel to Caliveras and you’re the only pilot currently flying there,” the girl said. “I have some credits.”</p><p>“How many?”</p><p>Her mouth quirked to the side, and she wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re headed there anyway according to your manifest. It’s not like you’d be going out of your way just for me?”</p><p>“Just you traveling? On your own?”</p><p>“Yes,” She nodded, her lekku bobbing over her shoulders. </p><p>“And what,” the Ithorian said. “Could you possibly have to do in Caliveras?”</p><p>It was then he noticed something he hadn’t a moment before: the shape of a I-90 snub-nosed blaster--the kind used by Rylothian resistance fighters during the Clone Wars, tucked on the inside of her jacket. </p><p>“I’m going to visit my brothers,” she said. </p><p>He studied her now with great interest. Yes, he certainly had a small but formidable Rylothian revolutionary on his hands.</p><p>Noticing his change in posture, the girl lifted her chin in what was clearly an expression of defiance. </p><p>“What do you call yourself?” he asked.</p><p>“You can call me Amuna,” the girl said.</p><p>The pilot blinked his large yellow eyes in what passed for an Ithorian nod. </p><p>“Captain Skiv Rittar, at your service,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind grabbing hold of those containers and pushing them on board, we can depart.”</p><p>For a moment, the girl’s eyes brightened, and her sullen face was transformed by a whole-hearted smile. Shoving the data pad into her bag, she shoved her sleeves up, flicked on the crate’s repulsorlift, and hurried up the gangplank after Captain Skiv Rittar,pushing a couple hundred pounds of santiflower seeds into the feral flyer’s cargo hold. </p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“You have clearance to land, Feral Flyer,” the controller on the other end of the radio gave the go ahead, and Skiv Rittar steered the ship down into the atmosphere. From space, Caliveras was a soft blend of pastel purple and green, with deep blue at the north and south poles.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” he heard Amuna say, her nose pressed to the window. </p><p>Captain Skiv gave a very Ithorian laugh.</p><p>“If Coruscant is the bustling city at the center of the galaxy, Caliveras is the little tourist town next to the beach. I take it this is your first time visiting your brothers?”</p><p>“The colors!” she whispered in awe, answering his question in her own way.</p><p>They landed in Hort Town station, and the captain walked his young passenger down onto the lavender grass of the open airport. Hort Town was a mountain town, nestled along long sloping hills covered in purple grass and wildflowers.  A sweet wind gently stirred the grass into waves. At the tops of the purple peaks, slender bands of turquoise air vapor swirled. Looking down the road at the town, Skiv’s gills filled with the smell of fresh air and sweet flowers, he remembered why he liked to come to this sleepy little planet. </p><p>But the girl Amuna, as already walking away, heading down to the road that would take her to Hort Town proper. </p><p>“Wait a moment!’ He started, blinking. “The credits!”</p><p>She turned back toward him, revealing the data pad in her hands and the smirk on her face. The data pad chimed as the payment was sent off. At his hip, Skiv’s personal comm pinged an alert. He glanced down to see the amount appear on the little screen. </p><p>5,000 credits. </p><p>It was more than what they agreed upon. More than the flight warranted, really. And where had that little twi’lek gotten 5,000 credits on her own?</p><p>He looked up to see the girl far down the road, her lekku flapping behind her, her pack bouncing on her shoulder, and the little tooka doll smiling at him from the front pocket.</p><p>
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</p><p>The green girl was skinny and not very tall. She was definitely an off-worlder, and though Merc wasn’t used to scamming starry-eyed teenagers on their first trip to this tourist trap, pickings were slim since the Empire’s crack down. Not that Caliveras was a hub of Imperial activity. On the contrary, the planet was pretty, peaceful and ultimately useless. Not good for farming, no important minerals to mine, no exploitable labor force. Mostly, high ranking officers just brought their families here to “get out of Coruscant” for the weekend. It was no Naboo, but it would do.</p><p>So, Merc was trying to figure out the best way to trick the girl out of her data pad--the only thing she had on her that was worth anything-- and barely listened to a word she was saying. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m looking for Cloudglider Street,” She said, fixing him with a pair of the biggest, most purple eyes he’d ever seen. She looked to be only a year younger than Merc, and he thought she was pretty. Most twi’leks were pretty, or so he’d heard. </p><p>“Cloudglider? Ah, your map’s probably out of date. They changed the name to Litmer after the newly appointed governor.”</p><p>“I see.” Her fingers flew across the pad, adjusting the coordinates. Then she turned on her heel and marched away. “Thanks for your help.”</p><p>“W-wait a second!”</p><p>Seeing his golden opportunity slipping away, he tripped after her. “If you need help find a place, I can help you on your way.”</p><p>“That’s alright,” she said. “You’ve helped me quite a bit.”</p><p>“But if you need help finding someplace, I’m your guy. I can lead you there. I’m a local, after all.” He said this with his best and most charming smirk. “I can tell you’re not from around here. Why are you heading over to Litmer street? Planning on doing some shopping? For a mere ten credits, I’ll carry your parcels and get you to the best cafe.”</p><p>“I’m here to visit my brothers,” she said, but allowed him to fall into step beside her. He was human, with tan skin and dark purple hair that he had spiked up into a small, crooked fan atop his head. His teeth were very white. </p><p>“My name’s Merc. What yours?”</p><p>“Manu,” she said. </p><p>He smiled, folding his arms behind his back. “That’s <em> sure </em> pretty. <em> Manu. </em>Where are you from?”</p><p>“Coruscant,” she said. </p><p>Well, that was a lie. Her clothes were well made but not fashionable. Again, he looked at the data pad in her hand. </p><p>“You’re a long way from home.”</p><p>“I’m coming home,” she said.</p><p><em> Not with that accent, </em> Merc thought. If she was from Caliveras, he was a wookiee.  </p><p>“My name’s Mercander, but you can just call me Merc,” he said. “I'm from Bespin, myself. Cloud City, born and raised but I live local now. I guess we're neighbors. Come on. Down this way,” he said, thrusting a thumb in that direction. “I’ll show you a shortcut.”</p><p>He led her down one of the alley’s, where bright streamers hung between the shops. Hort Town was clean and tidy. There were flower-boxes on the windowsills, and above one of the shops, someone was playing a folksy song from a local band on the radio. Merc led her through the alley, making amiable conversation and just as he reached the other side, he seized his chance. He hooked out his foot, and in a move that was well-practiced, he tripped her up. Manu stumbled, and Merc swept out his arm so that she fell neatly into the crook of his elbow.</p><p>“Whoa there!” He laughed, patting her back, making a big show of setting her upright, while his hands pattered at her pack. Nothing in the outer pockets but a doll. No purse or wallet. Nothing in her jacket pocket. The data-pad it was then.</p><p>Quickly, he plucked the pad out from under her arm, laughing loudly to distract her. It was easy. He just slid it out of her grasp, behind her back, and tucked it under his belt against the small of his back. Then he made a big show of hugging her and jostling her shoulders, knowing girls just went wild for that stuff. “No need to fall into my arms. I’ll be here all weekend.” </p><p>They stepped out into the light at the other side of the alley. There was pretty fountain spitting jade waters from the mouths of carved silver cloud-gliders. The street had originally been named after this fountain.</p><p>“Here you are. Litmer Street.” Merc pat her shoulder, beaming from ear to ear. The girl really had no idea. He almost felt sorry for her. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Manu. I hope to see you around.” He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. As he turned away, she abruptly caught hold of him by the crook of his elbow. He tried to shrug her off, but as he moved his arm, she spun him into the wall of the alley. The nose of a blast pressed up under his chin. </p><p>“Kriff!” he coughed. “What in the world are you doing with that?”</p><p>“I believe you have something of mine,” she said, her big purple eyes serious--her voice soft and calm. </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re--” the blaster pressed hard against his jaw. “Alright, alright!  You don’t need to tell me twice!” </p><p>He pulled out the data pad and thrust it out at her. With a little smile, she plucked it out of his hand. Backing out of the alley, she kept the blaster level with his chest as Merc remained frozen, his hands up. Then, with the finesse of a bounty hunter, she spun the blaster around in her hand, switched on the safety, and tucked it, unseen, back into her jacket.</p><p>“Thank you for showing me the way,” she said sweetly.</p><p>“Kark you, princess!” Merc spat bitterly, but he was talking to her back. Face flushing with embarrassment, he turned and ran away as fast as his feet would carry him.</p><p>
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</p><p> The bell above the shop door tinkled musically. From where he sat at the counter, meticulously trimming the tiny blue blossoms in the vase, he couldn’t see a thing. Merely the door opening and closing--the cool rush of mountain air whisking flower fragrance throughout the shop. He never would have thought, ten years ago, that he would own his own little flower shop in one of the sleepiest corners of the galaxy, He had been born and raised to do one thing, and he’d done that well. A good soldier to the end until…</p><p>
  <em> Until he wasn’t anymore.  </em>
</p><p>The brown hands that held the trimmed shears were marred with old scars--lines from a life that had seemed lived by someone else. Those scars could have easily been from trimming roses or tying lash-grass into bows to decorate the arrangements. No one here knew any better. </p><p>No one called him <em> Boil </em> anymore.</p><p>He heard the customer moving around the shop, but couldn’t see them over the display of fresh flowers. It was the purple season, and all manner of plants and blossoms were on display, all in shades of violet, periwinkle and plum. The shop’s little waxer droid, G-G, beeped a greeting. At last, he stood up. </p><p>“Hullo there,” he called. “How can I help you today?”</p><p>From behind the mountain of flowers, a pale green twi’lek girl appeared. For a moment, they stared at one another: he with his bushy black beard flecked with silver, she with her serious eyes now in an older face than he remembered from the last letter she’d pinged him. Was time moving by faster, or did she just sprout up as quickly as a clone.</p><p>“<em> Nerra </em>!” she called gleefully. </p><p>
  <em> Brother. </em>
</p><p>“Numa!” he shouted back.</p><p>
  <em> Sister. </em>
</p><p>Laughing, she leaped into his arms and he crushed her in a hug, bouncing her up into the air as if she weighed nothing. Around their feet, the little waxer droid beeped and cheeped, twirling overjoyed circles around them. </p><p>Watching over them from a place of prominence on the wall was a holo-portrait of a young man in clone trooper armor. He smiled down at them from a frame of fresh flowers. It was a candid shot, taken on Ryloth, and dust had created a patina on the front of his chest plate.</p><p>The young trooper's eyes were brown and bright--his smile warm and welcoming. He’d made them a family. </p><p>Numa smiled with all her heart. </p><p>It was good to see her brothers again. </p><p>It was good to come <em>home.</em></p>
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